At Least Corpses Know When To Just Shut Up

Days feel longer when your face is the first thing I see when I close my eyes. We’re spinning in and out of control like all the merry-go-rounds we used to love; but it’s not so fun anymore. Your insults are only words when you break down every phrase and I wish that one day words wouldn’t make me cry. Words are worse than punches, leaving bruises where no doctor can heal them. How do I rephrase “I hope you die alone” to make it sound more sincere? Because I’ve got my lying face plastered all over me everytime you’re around. I’m stinging from trying my best for you.

Drop you head and don some insanity. Let’s scream from the roof tops, “I won’t let you hurt me anymore.” I’m done with covering my eyes so I’d never have to see you with her again. I’ve been infected with loving to hate you. Oh no, I think they’ve mixed it up because I love you just a little to much. You’re my personal love letter anthrax and you could kill me with one breath. Venomous eyes with a sugar-sweet touch, I’m not sure I can stop myself. We’re tangled in silly string webs, could someone just carve me out? Make me perfect like a sculpture, smooth and flawlessly beautiful because I can’t do this alone.

Paint a beautiful world with a million words, a beautiful government with a billion, and I could make a beautiful love with just one. I’m done with red light love. You’ve got me driving on the tip of my toes. I talk too fast and cry too much, but can you love someone too much? And I could love you more than imaginable. Torn up papers with love letter words scattered across a love letter floor. Would you believe me if I told you, “you’re who I strive to be”?

Lie on this floor with me and we could look at the ceiling, that’s how I waste so many days. I’m a dreamer that dreams of you a little too much. You’re always finding a new crush and I’m always finding another thing wrong with myself. Could we cuddle like magnetic teddy bears? I can’t be close enough to that mouth that spits such beautiful words and those fingers that could always write my pain away. Give me a hint about what’s in store because the backroom’s too far away and I’m wasting my everything on you.

My eyes sting from looking for shooting stars and my fingers have blisters because I always have too much and too little to write about. I need some sleep to clean the lies out of my mouth.

Less Than Three;
Rikki [can spot the beautiful death in your eyes]

At Least Corpses Know When To Just Shut Up

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